


Not yet Your Own Path

by whittler_of_words



Series: Antebellum [8]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Like 5 Near Death Experiences, Politics, Reader is Asriel, asriel goes on a stealth mission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 15:37:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9391319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whittler_of_words/pseuds/whittler_of_words
Summary: There’s one thing you need, you think as you stuff your phone in your pocket. There’s no one in the house, so slipping out the door unseen is easy as pie. You’ve gone exploring more than enough times to know where all the backstreets are, and turning down alleys you know other people aren’t likely to be but will still take you to your destination takes nearly no effort at all.You needintel.





	

Life has never really been all that...simple. Growing up a prince, you were always taught a little more than everyone else about things that you were never sure really mattered; things like how to stand in a way that would make whoever you’re talking to think you’re listening, things like where to look when giving a speech -- how to _write_ a speech. You know, objectively, that you’re a lot more fortunate than so many people. You know that sometimes -- most of the time -- you’re simply just not going to get what you want. Still...

It doesn’t make sense that _you_ get the Saturday off while Chara and Frisk _don’t._

It’s crisp and breezy out; the sort of pale-sunny weather that’s perfect for adventuring in, but everyone knows it’s not as fun when there’s no one to go adventuring with. Rolling your pencils idly across your bedroom floor, pointedly not looking anywhere near the window, you try not to feel too resentful about it. You’d spent more than a handful of minutes stalling outside the door to the training yard, wanting to join them, wanting to watch them practice and learn, but -- Chara and Frisk have been trying so _hard_ to learn magic for nearly half a year now. What would your mom think if you just went in there and distracted them?

What would they?

There’s one thing you know, and it’s that you can’t be a nuisance. You won’t make any of this harder for them than it needs to be. 

You just wish you could help.

Sighing, you idly darken the outline of the drawing in front of you. The God of Hyperdeath is wielding his sword in this one, pointing it at a foe somewhere off the page. It’s black and white right now, but you can already see the color all around it, rainbow and glowing and ready to tear its wielder’s enemies to pieces. And that’s one of the cool things about Hyperdeath: even though he knows he’ll _never_ lose a fight, he always puts his all into every single one. Even when things look tough, he never gives up, because...

Well. You used to say it’s because “good always wins out in the end”, but you think you like it more when it’s just because he’s so fuckin’ awesome.

But where usually thinking about Hyperdeath would make you feel better, this time it...doesn’t. You frown down at the page. It’s not like it’s drawn badly; it _looks_ perfectly fine, and you’re actually kind of proud of it? But--

The God of Hyperdeath never gives up.

You’re always talking about how much you wish you could be better, stronger, and yet here you are already admitting defeat after barely even trying to figure out a way to help your friends. It’s dumb! Grimacing, you gather up all your pencils and shove them back into the box, placing the half-finished picture on top of it before pushing it back underneath your bed. You _can_ be strong. You _can_ be useful. You’ll show them -- you’ll show yourself!

Standing in the middle of your empty room, the only question you can ask yourself is: but what can you do?

You fall back onto your bed with an _oof_. The ceiling is the same off-white it always is, but the glitter in the paint never fails to keep you occupied when you have nothing else to do, and you let your eyes follow the patterns as you furrow your eyebrows and think everything over. 

Your first thought is to help them with magic somehow, but-- you know there’s nothing you can bring to the table that your mom can’t. You already know that learning magic is a mostly personal thing a lot of the time, and butting in would probably cause more than fix any problems they might have. So what else can you do? What else do they -- do you -- need?

Distantly, your mind drifts to the conversation in the blanket fort, not even a couple weeks ago. 

...There’s no way you can help with any of that.

Unless--

You sit up in bed with a start, looking over to the dresser as excitement balls up in your chest. There’s a bunch of your dad’s old hand-me-downs in there, stuff that you’re still waiting to fit into, and it doesn’t take even a couple minutes of digging to find what you’re looking for. The hoodie hangs off your frame when you pull it on, the sleeves ending a good couple inches past your fingertips. Looking in the mirror, you’re pleased to find that the hood obscures most of your features when it’s pulled up, hiding your eyes almost entirely and casting the creamy pallor of your fur into shadow. You kind of look exactly like the sort of person you’d want to avoid alone in the street, and you smile to yourself.

There’s one thing you need, you think as you stuff your phone in your pocket. There’s no one in the house, so slipping out the door unseen is easy as pie. You’ve gone exploring more than enough times to know where all the backstreets are, and turning down alleys you know other people aren’t likely to be but will still take you to your destination takes nearly no effort at all.

You need _intel._

You can already hear five different voices in your head, every one of them telling you this is stupid and dangerous, but you _know_ you can do this. You’ll show them. After this, there’s no way your friends will think they can’t count on you.

Clenching your hands into fists inside your sleeves, you turn towards the human town and make a point to not look back.

 

 

 

This is a good idea.

This is a good idea.

This is a _good_ idea.

The change from Ebott to the human town would be nearly unnoticeable to someone who didn’t know what to look for. For all that the two towns separated back when you were just a baby monster, official borders between them were never put up; the only thing signifying any sort of real change is the sudden quietness -- the empty spaces where monsters had withdrawn further into town from the fear of accidentally offending a human neighbor; the gradual change in architecture as you move away from the unique houses monsters like to construct towards the cookie cutter buildings humans seem to favor. 

It’s not as if you thought there was going to be a sign posted in the road reading “Human Town Ahead, Beware All Ye Who Enter Here”, but. _Something_ letting you know you’re on the right track would’ve been nice.

You were expecting people, but the complete lack of humans in the streets only sends an uneasiness up your spine that has you repeating the same mantra to yourself over and over. It’d almost be enough to make you wonder if houses this close to the border were simply abandoned by the humans as well, if you didn’t see signs of life littered everywhere; kid’s balls left on narrow sidewalks, small yards too neat to be uncared for. So...where is everybody?

Gritting your teeth, you trudge further in, sticking to the walls as much as you can without being too suspicious. You know that going too far in is more dangerous than it’s worth, but-- you _can’t_ turn back now, not after coming all this way. If anyone back home finds out you came here you’ll be pretty much dead anyway. Might as well get something useful out of it. Right?

Haha, wow, this was a good idea.

Even while trying as much as you can to stay cautious, though, there’s a part of you that can’t help but be nothing more than curious. You’ve always liked learning things, especially when those things were technically stuff that you weren’t supposed to know, and Chara becoming part of your family only seemed to add fuel to that fire; it hurt them to talk about, you think, but even still, you could never get enough of the moments when they casually dropped something about their old life into their conversation. Never anything too detailed, of course -- even you knew better than to press them for things like that -- but just enough to leave you hungry for more.

It’s not that you never heard anything about how humans lived, before -- your mom, your dad, Gerson, Papyrus, Alphys; you’ve heard plenty of their stories from the times before the humans separated from monsters completely. But coming from Chara, everything seemed more...

_Real._

You just can’t figure out why, now that you’re seeing the leftovers of how the humans live first hand, the only thing you feel is disappointment.

(Maybe it’s because of the way Chara’s voice always changed when the human town came up; clipped and short and taut like they were on the verge of letting something terrible slip between their teeth. Or is it the way they grew nervous and twitchy whenever they went any further from the house than the park, as if they were still terrified of being told to go back even after all this time. It’s the way they and Frisk look at each other sometimes when someone brings up humans, or magic, or something you’d think wasn’t deserving of a Look at all -- as if they both know something no one else does. Something they don’t think you could even begin to understand. You _want_ to understand. Is that such a bad thing?)

So caught up are you in your thoughts that you almost don’t notice the crowd until you nearly trip into it.

Biting on a gasp, you jerk back and away from the gathering of humans. There are so _many_ ; more than you’ve ever seen standing in the middle of a break in the endless buildings. Where did they all come from?? You hold your breath as you cling to the shadows cast by a wall near the back of the crowd, only letting yourself breathe again when no one even so much as glances at you. It’s fine. You’re _fine._ This is what you came here for, wasn’t it? Of course, you’d be the one to get lost in your head in the middle of a stealth mission.

At the very least, this is the perfect chance to overhear something you can use. You narrow your eyes to slits, trying to focus on at least one of the countless murmuring conversations going on in front of you.

“--think we should be here,” someone says, and your ears would perk if they could. “What if the rumors are true?”

“They’re _rumors,_ ” someone else replies. “No one’s going to cast a spell on us dude, I promise.”

“I don’t know.” The first person doesn’t sound convinced. “I-- these things get violent, okay, I’ve seen pictures from other ones. What if--”

“Don’t judge the entire movement because of a few bad people, okay? If things get hairy, we can leave. I wouldn’t bring you somewhere you could get hurt.”

“Mm.”

The conversation stops there. You peer out from under your hood, trying to pick out who those people might have been, but it’s hard when pretty much no one is facing you. Rumors? “Movement”? What the hell is going on here?

A muffled voice rings out at the front of the crowd, causing most of the people there to go quiet, but you’re still too far away to hear anything. Damn it... maybe if you get a little closer... 

“...brief,” you hear as you shuffle as close as you dare, still barely audible. Good enough. “We, as a people, are vulnerable. Just outside our borders lies a danger we can’t afford to ignore any longer. It’s time to begin taking action!”

There’s too many people between you and whoever’s speaking to even hope of getting a glimpse of them, but the distance between you still couldn’t hope to dilute the conviction in their voice. Something coils unpleasantly in your stomach. You can’t help but feel like you know what they’re talking about.

 _Who_ they’re talking about, more like.

“Aren’t you assuming a little too much?” someone asks, their location lost to the air. “I agree, they’re dangerous, but they haven’t done anything yet.”

“Yes,” the speaker says, “they have.”

What?

The murmur that sweeps through the crowd nearly muffles their voice entirely. “I don’t like the thought of fighting,” they say, “and not long ago I thought the people who advocated it were radicals; impractical and naive. But I came to realize how necessary taking that final step is,” they say, “when monsters killed my family.”

_What?_

Nearly reeling, you struggle to hear what else they have to say over the shocked buzz of the people in front of you, but you realize that they aren’t speaking at all. They’re waiting, you think, for the noise to quiet down, and in the minute it takes for the crowd to do so you can only try not to be sick. What are they talking about? No monster has ever killed a human -- have they? You’d know, wouldn’t you? 

Wouldn’t you?

“I was lucky,” they say, finally, and they don’t have to struggle to be heard when they speak again. The crowd has their attention now. “But my family wasn’t. Their deaths were kept quiet, and I can only ask myself how many others were left unmourned, assumed missing or worse. So I ask you: do you think doing something about it is impractical? Is _justice_ \--” The break in their voice is audible, but they continue before it can become a pause. “Is justice considered the new radical ideal?”

They do pause, at that, and from the way the noise of the crowd grows in volume again, you can only assume they’d anticipated the reaction.

You--

You don’t know what to think. You don’t know how to feel. Your first reaction is anger, indignance; there isn’t a monster you know who would kill a human on purpose, not to mention covering it up. This person _has_ to be lying. It’s enough to make you wish you could go up there and tell them how obvious it is that they’re pulling straws. But -- there was grief in their voice, even if just for a moment, even if quickly covered up by their authority, and you’ve seen enough of Mettaton’s plays to know what fake sadness sounds like. That was _real._

You’d know if a monster has ever killed a human -- unless your parents thought that not telling you about it would protect you.

A hand on your shoulder freezes your thoughts in their tracks.

“Hey, kid,” someone says, far too close. “Aren’t you a little young to be at one of these things?”

You can hear the other speaker’s voice again, but it’s oddly distant, and you couldn’t hope to pick out their words over the sound of your own racing thoughts as you turn, slowly. 

“Um...” Your voice cracks embarrassingly, and you clear it, biting on a wince. “N...no?”

The last thing you’re expecting the human to do is bark out a laugh. They remove their hand from your shoulder, though, and you use the opportunity to pull your hood a little further over your face as conspicuously as possible. You barely get a glimpse of dark skin and dreads before you look away from their face, not wanting them to get a good look at yours.

“Okay,” they say, “okay, cool, I can respect that.” They turn on their heel so they’re facing the crowd, standing next to you. You catch them folding their arms in your peripheral. “So,” they say. “What do you think so far?” They pause, and after a minute of you not say anything, continue, “It’s okay, you can be honest. I’m just curious.”

“I-- I don’t know,” you find yourself admitting, the words blurting out of your mouth before you can stop yourself. Shit. Might as well stick with it. “I thought I knew what was right, but now...” _Monsters killed my family,_ the speaker had said.

The stranger hums in acknowledgement, as if knowing exactly where your thoughts had gone. “These things would be a lot easier if they were all black and white, huh?”

You glance at them. “What about you? Do you want to fight?”

“Hell no,” they say. Their lack of hesitation takes you by surprise, and you think they can tell somehow, if they way they laugh is any indication. “I mean, look, whether they deserve it or not, war hurts both sides. Innocent people will be caught in the crossfire. Maybe it’s selfish of me, but I don’t really want something like that on my conscience.”

Huh. You find yourself side-eyeing them, before thinking: _fuck it._ “Then why are you here?”

That, of all things, gives them pause. “I have some business around here,” they say eventually. “And I promised a friend I’d try to make it.”

For a long moment, you stand without saying anything. You find yourself thinking of what Chara said before -- that humans would take any opportunity to fight, would turn against themselves -- and, despite yourself, you can only wonder if that’s really so true. It makes you uneasy.

The human isn’t looking at you when you glance at them one more time. They’re turned toward the crowd again, a finger idly tapping against their arm, and you realize their attention isn’t on you anymore. You almost wish you could keep talking to them, despite yourself, but you know this is the best chance you’ll get. Taking a quiet step back, you retreat as their attention continues to be locked onto the scene in front of them. The noise of the crowd fades behind you as you turn away.

Holy fuck, is the first thing you think to yourself.

You have the urge to collapse against a wall for a little bit, but you know now isn’t the time or the place. _Very_ much not the place. You should be going over what you heard, you think, trying to commit it all to memory so you can deliver it to Frisk and Chara as accurately as possible, but your mind is oddly blank. It can wait until you get back home. Probably.

Speaking of home. Uh... You’re pretty sure you’re going the right way. What is it with humans and all their houses looking the same?

Taking a breath, you pull your phone out of your pocket to check the time. You’re surprised to find that it hasn’t even been two hours yet; it feels like hours more have passed, but at the very least it means you still have plenty of time before anyone’s going to wonder where you are. Stuffing your phone back in its place, you take a moment to reorient yourself before making your way back home once again.

Of course, it’s not even ten minutes later when you hear something clattering in the next block.

The sudden noise paired with laughter has you freezing in your tracks. The voices slowly growing closer are loud, unfamiliar, and just ever so slightly off in a way you can’t identify -- anxiety has your fur standing on end under your hoodie, and you strain to make out their words over the inexplicable fear.

“--how these people are. All talk talk talk, right? Then back to the same old waiting game! Nothing’s ever gonna get done.”

“No shit!” someone else says. “What else do you expect from wannabe politicians?”

“Assholes,” a third voice snorts. “Y’know--”

“Y’all are hypocrites.” The voices stop for a moment, and you step closer as quietly as you can, waiting. “Don’t act all ignorant, you know what I mean. Here you are talking big shit about them not doin’ anything while not doing anything yourself! So how much better are you, huh?”

“Shit,” someone mutters.

“How about this, then,” the third voice starts. “Let’s go. Right now. We’re not too far from the border, let’s start weeding those monsters out right now.”

Well, fuck.

That’s all the cue you need. Taking several soft steps back, you turn and quickly make your way down an opposite alley, another path that will hopefully still take you back to Ebott. You have to move fast; have to find Mom, or Dad, or Undyne, someone who’ll know what to do about all of this. But what if you’re too late? Should you try to face them yourself? Except -- no, no that’s fucking stupid, GOD, just keep going until you come across someone who isn’t a kid in an oversized sweater pretending to know what they’re doing--

You run into somebody.

Literally.

The _oof_ that pulls from your chest is more of a squeak, and you only just manage to keep yourself from falling flat on your ass. Even more mortifying, though, is the realization that the momentum from the near fall is throwing your hood back, too slow to stop it. 

All you can do is stare for several long moments at the human with dark skin and dreads as their eyes widen in recognition.

No sooner do you take a step back in preparation to run the other way than you hear more movement behind you, and dread sinks into your stomach. Because of _course_ the other humans are coming this way. Of course you messed this all up. Of course you’re going to die here. The human in front of you reaches out, and you find that the only thing you can think is: _sorry, Chara._

Except all that happens is you’re unable to see as your hood is pulled back over your face, and you’re pulled close as the human wraps their arm around your shoulders.

Multiple footsteps approach down the alley. Your heartbeat quickens in your chest until you can almost taste it.

“Hey, you guys ok?” someone asks.

“Hey, yeah man,” the human next to you says. “My cousin’s just got a bad migraine, so we’re heading home. Light makes it worse, y’know?” Their hand pats your shoulder in sympathy. You think. 

“Be careful around here,” one of the voices says. “It’s dangerous this close to the border.”

“I haven’t seen a monster around here in years,” the human lies, “but thanks for the warning.”

There’s a pause, and then the footsteps resume until they’re right next to you. Someone says they hope you feel better, you think, and you can only mutter a weak thanks as they pass. Neither you nor the human holding you to their side move until you can’t hear the others any longer.

The stranger lets you go, and you don’t waste any time backing away from them, pulling your hood back just enough so you can see. It’s the first real good look you’ve gotten of them; their blue hoodie is nearly the same as yours in its oversized-ness, and the goggles pulled up over their hair makes you briefly wonder what they do that necessitates them before you drag your train of thought back on track. They watch you back just as intently.

Well. As long as they’re not attacking you yet.

“Why did you help me?” you ask, and you’re pleased to find that your voice barely shakes at all.

Their response is quick. “Why did you come here?”

That’s a question even you know you can’t answer. You wonder if they didn’t do so for a similar reason, or if maybe they just don’t know. You bite your lip.

“Are you going to kill me?”

They take a deep breath at the question, and even just the fact that they don’t answer right away makes your stomach lurch. “I should,” they start slowly, “but. I don’t believe in hurting children.” They glance down the other end of the alley, in the direction the group of humans had disappeared down. “So uh... I think it’d be best if you went home before someone less forgiving finds you here.”

It’s been a long day. You’re tired, and scared, and a little angry in ways you don’t want to think about. Maybe that’s why, even after everything you’ve heard, after almost dying like, five times, you still hesitate to go. You don’t pause for more than a moment.

“What’s your name?” you ask.

When they say, “Trisme,” they don’t quite smile, but you figure it’s close enough.

“Thank you, Trisme,” you say, and then you move past them to leave.

You know it’d be best to get out of here as soon as possible, but you’ve been in so much danger in the past couple hours that you think you’re sort of desensitized to it. You lean back against a wall the second you’re out of sight.

Golly shit.

You’re only there for a few minutes before you hear more footsteps, and you’re just about to resign yourself to never getting out of here when a familiar voice calls out on the other side of the wall.

“Allium!” Trisme says. “I thought we were supposed to be meeting up, not playing hide and seek.”

“Ha! Sorry, Tris,” an unfamiliar voice answers. This one is lighter, sharp and accented in a way you don’t recognize. “Got distracted by some shops, but I got everything we needed.”

“Everything?” Trisme repeats, and there’s a pause before they continue, “holy shit, you really did get everything.”

“Told ya,” Allium says, a smile in their voice. “This should be enough to test out a few bottles first just in case, but we’ve gone through enough trial and error that there shouldn’t be much more room for error anyway.”

“Definitely,” Trisme agrees. “The others’ll be happy to hear they can start actually practicing again. Meditation only does so much.”

Their voices fade until you can’t hear what they’re saying anymore after that, and you’re left staring at the street in front of you, finally completely alone. Your mind keeps catching on the conversation -- bottles, practice, meditation -- until you can only reach one conclusion about what they could’ve possibly been talking about.

God. You’re so tired.

In the first unsurprising act of the day, you start crying the second you get back over the border. For once, you’re not even mad at yourself.

There’s no way you can tell anyone about today until you’re not a mess.


End file.
